a kind of sorrow

 

a kind of sorrow that none would confess
around us all the noises fade to naught
but to no master could we acquiesce

no power could ever hope to curse or bless
those forces that have all of life now caught
a kind of sorrow that none would confess

each might choose singly to raise or depress
the normal heart with strings that are held taut
but to no master could we acquiesce

with haste and desperation we compress
time into struggles that the dead have fought
a kind of sorrow that none would confess

all motivations lead us to excess
with everyone becoming most distraught
but to no master could we acquiesce

the message goes always to wrong address
yet none of us is ever overwrought
a kind of sorrow that none would confess
but to no master could we acquiesce

around the hill

 

around the hill there's no sign of the work
it took to build the road and cut a trail
our efforts might a sort of choice entail
between the daylight and the clutching murk
pressure would not a patient hero irk
but none of us are swifter than a snail
still those who persevere may still prevail
if they will not their obligations shirk
voyaging out means some hope of return
still once you've left you can't just go back
there are no signs that others cannot read
no worker gets the wage that he should earn
and gets the whip if he should feel the lack
such normal pleadings are described as greed
by those whose minds and bodies feel no need
of basic sustenance still if we turn
our faces outward and make the right tack
we find ourselves obliged soon to concede
that with fond memories our minds still burn
not one thought comes that permits some slack
since on our own hearts we're required to feed
and so we find our way back to the place
to seek recall in every friendly face

each back must bear

 each back must bear a heavy ancient freight
of pain and memory and all our cares
as each of us in our own way despairs
of life and hope still when we feel the weight
of all those yesterdays of every date
on which we preened and gave ourselves such airs
we laugh at how unvalued such affairs
are now so little pain we consecrate
the signals and the symbols of each plan
had meaning once but at this later stage
we do not put a rate upon such parts
we are not what we were when we began
but want to lie and dodge about our age
to keep hope warm in all our tired hearts

lift from the shadows golden

 

lift from the shadows golden shape of time
at all our words echo the many sounds
of beauty and the ones that it surrounds

no one can hope to cleanse the heavy grime
as long as each of us is within bounds
lift from the shadows golden shape of time

the ordinary reaches the sublime
each sort who praises truth and then expounds
on all that's worthy needlessly astounds
lift from the shadows golden shape of time